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<body id="html-body" class="epub-depth0" data-page="scp-3001"><section id="main-content" role="doc-chapter" aria-labelledby="page-title"><figure class="epub-figure scp-image-block pixel-art-figure">
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        <figcaption class="scp-image-caption">-- Pixel art by <a href="https://twitter.com/@SnugBoat11" rel="nofollow">@SnugBoat11</a></figcaption>
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		<p><br /></p>
		<h1 id="page-title">SCP-3001</h1>
		<p role="doc-subtitle">Red Reality</p>
		<aside>
			<ul><li><b>By:</b> OZ Ouroboros </li><li><b>Posted:</b> <time datetime="2017-03-24T08:20:45.000Z">Fri Mar 24 2017</time> </li><li><b>Rating:</b> 1412 </li><li><b>Wilson Score:</b> 0.96 </li><li><cite><a href="http://scp-wiki.net/scp-3001" data-external="true">Original Version</a></cite></li>
			</ul><h3 class="align-center">Audio Adaptations</h3><ul><li><a href="https://youtu.be/WGL3-EY4BII">Site-42</a> </li><li><a href="https://youtu.be/gyirThDZQm4">GRYITH</a> </li></ul>
		</aside>
	</header><div id="page-content">
                        

<div style="text-align: right;"></div>
<p><strong style="speak: literal-punctuation;">Item #:</strong><span style="speak: spell-out;"> SCP-3001</span></p>
<p><strong>Object Class:</strong> Euclid</p>
<p><strong>Special Containment Procedures:</strong> To prevent further accidental entries into SCP-3001, all Foundation reality-bending technology will be upgraded/modified with multiple newly developed safeguards to prevent Class-C "Broken Entry" Wormhole creation. While knowledge of SCP-3001 is available to personnel of any level should they wish to learn about it, research and experimentation with SCP-3001 and its associated technology is strictly limited to personnel of Level 3 and above, with special clearance designation granted from Sites 120, 121, 124, and 133.</p>
<p><strong>Description:</strong> SCP-3001 is a hypothesized paradoxical parallel/pocket "non-dimension" accessible through the creation of a momentary Class-C "Broken Entry" Wormhole.<a id="footnoteref-b904-1" href="scp-3001.xhtml#footnote-b904-1" role="doc-noteref" epub:type="noteref">[1]</a> While believed to be an infinitely extending parallel universe, SCP-3001 is almost completely devoid of any matter and has an extremely low Hume Level of 0.032,<a id="footnoteref-b904-2" href="scp-3001.xhtml#footnote-b904-2" role="doc-noteref" epub:type="noteref">[2]</a> contradicting Kejel's Laws of Reality with the relation between Humes and spacetime. This phenomenon causes matter inside it to decay at an extremely low rate, and damage that would otherwise prove fatal does not impede any biological/electronic function; simulations suggest an organism can lose more than 70% of their body's tissue and still operate normally, as long as at least 40% of the brain remains. However, prolonged exposure will cause said matter to gradually approach SCP-3001's own Hume Level, resulting in severe tissue/structural damage as the matter's own Hume Field begins to disintegrate.</p>
				    <aside id="footnote-b904-2" role="doc-footnote" epub:type="footnote" class="inline-footnote">
						<p>
							<a href="scp-3001.xhtml#footnoteref-b904-2" role="doc-backlink" title="Go to note reference">2</a>.  For more information on Humes and reality physics, refer to documents <a href="http://scp-wiki.net/and-this-one-explains-humes">JEK-WT01</a> and <a href="http://scp-wiki.net/an-faq-part-two-or-your-hume-questions-answered">JEK-EB02.</a></p>
				    </aside>
				
				    <aside id="footnote-b904-1" role="doc-footnote" epub:type="footnote" class="inline-footnote">
						<p>
							<a href="scp-3001.xhtml#footnoteref-b904-1" role="doc-backlink" title="Go to note reference">1</a>.  A previously hypothetical type of wormhole that does not transport matter to the expected location, or has a spacetime flaw that may randomly and dangerously eject matter mid-travel.</p>
				    </aside>
				
<p>SCP-3001 was initially discovered on January 2, 2000, at Site-120, a facility dedicated to testing and containing reality-bending technology. Dr. Robert Scranton and his wife Dr. Anna Lang were Head Researchers at Site-120, and were developing an experimental device, called the "Lang-Scranton Stabilizer" (LSS).<a id="footnoteref-b904-3" href="scp-3001.xhtml#footnote-b904-3" role="doc-noteref" epub:type="noteref">[3]</a> Dr. Scranton was transported to SCP-3001 after unexpected seismic activity damaged several active LSS in Site-120 Reality Lab A.</p>
				    <aside id="footnote-b904-3" role="doc-footnote" epub:type="footnote" class="inline-footnote">
						<p>
							<a href="scp-3001.xhtml#footnoteref-b904-3" role="doc-backlink" title="Go to note reference">3</a>.  The LSS was the prototype whose design would go on to become the basis for the current "Reality Anchor" project.</p>
				    </aside>
				
<p>Initially presumed dead, Dr. Scranton has survived in SCP-3001 for at least five years, 11 months, and 21 days. During this time, he was able to record his experiences and observations within SCP-3001 through a somehow still functioning LSS control panel, which was also brought into SCP-3001 with him through the Class-C "Broken Entry" Wormhole. These recordings were later recovered upon the panel's sudden return, an unexpected side effect from testing improved reality-bending technology; these logs are the basis of SCP-3001 study. Despite new technologies being developed, retrieval and re-integration of Dr. Scranton has been unsuccessful. His current physical and mental states, if he is still alive, are unknown. <em>[Further information on Dr. Scranton's possible retrieval is under Ethics Committee review.]</em> Transcripts of Dr. Scranton's logs are below.</p>
<section class="epub-collapse">
		<h2 id="collapse-0c201b0cb7957" class="epub-collapse-header epub-has-unfolded">
			<s class="epub-collapse-folded-text">File: Scranton SCP-3001 logs, Section 1.</s>
		<ins role="doc-subtitle">Close.</ins>
		</h2>
	<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<blockquote>
<p><em>[No discernible/coherent dialogue can be heard from Dr. Scranton for the first eight days. He cycles through periods of panic, confusion, and anger throughout, and it seems he was attempting to navigate SCP-3001 to find a way out. He finally moved close enough to the recording log on the eleventh day, though did not notice it was operating for several more hours.]</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>…</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Name, Robert Scranton. Age, 39. Birthday, September 19, 1961.</p>
<p>Favorite color, blue.<br />
Favorite song, "Living on a Prayer."<br />
Wife… Anna…</p>
<p>Anna…</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Name, Robert Scranton. Age, 39. Birthday, September 19, 1961.</p>
<p>Favorite color, blue.<br />
Favorite song, "Living on a Prayer."<br />
Wife, Anna. She has green eyes. I love her very much.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Name, Robert Scranton. Age, 39. Birthday, September 19, 1961.</p>
<p>Favorite color, blue.<br />
Height, 178 cm.<br />
Weight, 85 kg.<br />
Wife, Anna. Anna, I'm sorry.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Name, Robert Scranton. Age, 39. Birthday, September 19, 1961.</p>
<p>Favorite color, blue.<br />
My wife's name is Anna. We got married August 12, 1991.<br />
I hope she got out okay.<br />
Please let her be all right, please let her be all right.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Robert, Scranton. 39. Anna, blue, wife. Please… please, God, please…</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Anna… Anna… Anna bo banna… Anna bo banna…</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>What the… what the hell is that? <em>[It is assumed at this point Dr. Scranton noticed the flashing light of the recording module.]</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>What the fuck, this thing's actually recording?</p>
<p><em>[Metallic clang heard.]</em></p>
<p><em>[Voice is highly agitated and panicked.]</em> My name, is Robert Scranton. Yeah, yeah, my name, is Robert Scranton, former researcher at Foundation Site-120. It has been… I don't know, actually, I… I can't remember. I… I estimate it's been ten days, but, I-I-I don't, I can't… Oh God, can anyone hear me?! I-I-I don't know what's happened, I-I don't know where I am, and-and, please, please is anyone there?! Hello?! Anyone?! ANYONE?!</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>No one can hear me. Oh God, oh God, oh God. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Why the hell is this thing even working, it can't be working, it SHOULDN'T be working, so what the hell?! I need to — God, I need to, I need to… see, how… long can I talk here, I think there's a-a-a cap or something on the recording log, and I-I-I can't see anything, I can only see the red light blinking on and off, I can't see any of the switches next to it…</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>I'm really hungry.</p>
<p>Thirsty, too. I think I should be dead from dehydration by now, but… I don't know.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Hi, little red light. Can you talk to me? Can you talk to… Anna, for me? Hello?</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>I found the controls.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><em>Two weeks, three days, forty-seven hours, and fifty-eight minutes</em>.</p>
<p><em>Two weeks, three days, forty-seven hours, and fifty-eight minutes.</em></p>
<p>Two weeks, three days, seven hours, and fifty-eight minutes.</p>
<p><em>Two weeks, three days, seven hours, and fifty-eight minutes.</em></p>
<p>Oh… Jesus.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><em>ERROR WITH PLAYBACK, ERROR WITH PLAYBACK. ERROR WITH PLAYBACK.</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Wherever the hell I am, I'm pretty sure now that… I don't need to eat to stay alive. It hurts… a lot, but… at this point I don't think I'm gonna die… So… I'm gonna… I'm gonna take my time… I guess. I… Maybe some sort of miracle will happen and I'll get out. Heh. Keep dreaming, Robert. Yeah, I'm… I'm tired, I'm gonna sleep.</p>
<p><em>Three weeks, four days, nineteen hours.</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>I have a picture of Anna in my pocket. I almost forgot. Little red light, let me see her face, please? Just a little bit, I just… I just want to see her a bit.</p>
<p>Hi, Anna, I'm still here, I'm still here. I'm coming back, okay?</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><em>Two months, four days, three hours.</em></p>
<p>… Hi. Robert here. Yeah, I-I haven't really recorded much to hear in the past few weeks. Ha. Hahahaha… Hahaha… huh… huh…</p>
<p>Sorry, gotta keep it together. Breathe.</p>
<p>I've been… I've been busy. Trying to learn more about the place I'm in. My prison. My kingdom all my own. Heh, King Robert. God, I stink. Is there even air in this goddamn place? Stinky King Robert, king of GODDAMN NOTHING FUCK.</p>
<p>…Sorry, sorry. I, I gotta keep this professional. I'll… I'll come back when I'm feeling rested.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>… Okay, here goes. <em>[Inhales then exhales deeply.]</em></p>
<p>My name is… Robert Scranton. I am a former Head Researcher of Site… 120, a Foundation facility dedicated to studying various reality-bending SCPs, for the purpose of developing more advanced countermeasures towards such threats.</p>
<p>For the last… red light, speak to me,</p>
<p><em>Two months, eight days, sixteen hours.</em></p>
<p>What red light said. I have been trapped in what I believe to be an empty pocket dimension. Alone. Yeah… alone. All alone.</p>
<p>I'm calling this place SCP… I don't know, I can't remember where we are, screw it. I don't know what's happened in the past… red light, please, again.</p>
<p><em>Two months, eight days, sixteen hours.</em></p>
<p>But… no one else is around to argue, and at this point… I'm just talking into this control panel to keep myself together. I… I need to keep a record. There might be some poor bastard in the future who ends up like me, and… if this ever actually makes it out… maybe, maybe I can help stop that from happening. That's all I have going for me right now, and I <em>really</em> need something to go for, hahahaha…</p>
<p>…So, yeah, Robert… Scranton… documenting a new SCP for… future research purposes. That'll have to do. Here we go!</p>
</blockquote>
</div></section>
<section class="epub-collapse">
		<h2 id="collapse-0b80e7cb8b61a" class="epub-collapse-header epub-has-unfolded">
			<s class="epub-collapse-folded-text">File: Scranton SCP-3001 logs, Section 2.</s>
		<ins role="doc-subtitle">Close.</ins>
		</h2>
	<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<blockquote>
<p>…</p>
<p><em>Two months, eleven days, ten hours.</em></p>
<p>Item number, SCP I don't fucking care.</p>
<p>Object Class, Euclid, I guess, but I don't know, I might update this in time. I need to explore more.</p>
<p>Special Containment Procedures, god I sound so much like a shrink right now… Um… I don't know if we could… contain wherever I am. It's… definitely not on Earth. To be honest I don't know where it is. I… I think it has do something with the Stabilizer prototype… I'll explain that more later. Okay… um… yeah, wherever I am, I don't think it can be contained much as… created. No, no, that's not the word I'm looking for. Um… entered. Yeah, entered is better. I came into this place because of some really bad reality-bending accident and… no, no, Robert, don't be like that yet, you don't know if there's no exit yet. Ooooh… livin' on a prayer… halfway… there. Ahem.</p>
<p><em>Two months, eleven days, eighteen hours.</em></p>
<p>So… wait, no, Description, Robert, stick to the format… This place… It's some sort of reality gap, I think. It's dark. Really dark. As in, this little red light that shows my words are actually being recorded is the only visible light in this entire place. I can't see my hands, and I can barely see the control panel here. I've had to basically use the light as a center, and remember how many steps I take and in which direction. I haven't gone past a hundred yet. I'm too… I'm too scared to. Heh. I wonder if my hair is turning white, right now? I can't even see what color it is anymore. Speaking of which, my head has been a bit itchy recently. If I don't concentrate on it, it's fine, but I feel this… tingling all over my face. I'm not sure why.</p>
<p><em>Two months, fifteen days, four hours.</em></p>
<p>Okay… hoooo… I-I need to relax for a minute, Jesus, god, shit. Holy… shit, shit, shit… I… just discovered a new property of this place. All this time, I've been thinking I might be walking on… some sort of… flat ground, if you will. I kept eye contact with little red as far as I could see, and it seems I could walk in a straight, flat path. Jesus, my head is buzzing right now, I think the adrenaline is still kicking… But, if my hypothesis is correct, and this really is some sort of reality… void, then there shouldn't be anything to walk on. Now that I think about, the whole time I've been in here, it's felt like… I'm walking, but I'm also swimming through something. And this something is thick, and form-fitting, it has this… pressure, which I know isn't the correct term, but goddamn it, this place makes <em>no damn sense</em> and I'm doing my best to understand it, okay?!</p>
<p>God… Sorry.</p>
<p>So, the best analogy I can come up with is… it's like I'm walking through really thick black gel. There's enough tension to keep me on a… "surface", but if I… imagine myself pressing down hard enough, I can descend. Wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, I think… I think I need to test this more, I'll be back.</p>
<p><em>Two months, seventeen days, two hours.</em></p>
<p>Navigation is largely affected by… conscious impulses to travel in a certain direction. So, this definitely isn't a complete reality gap, at least according to mine and Anna's theories. If-if it <em>were</em> I wouldn't have been able to move at all, since space wouldn't <em>have existed</em>. Holy shit, okay, okay, this makes a lot more sense than it did before, great, <em>great</em> job, Robert, you're getting there. …Come to think of it, I should've realized that sooner when I was able to move in a flat plane to and from little red. It also explains why I'm not dead from dehydration or hunger yet, time barely passes in here. Okay yeah, so, I stood right next to little red, and went straight… "down." Okay, from here on out, imagine little red as the origin of a 3D space. I went straight… down, right, yeah, and then… and then I was then able to come back "up" to little red again. I've also been able to "fly" above red. Movement in here is slow, like I said, gel analogy, best I can describe it by.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><em>Two months, twenty-two-days, three hours.</em></p>
<p>Reporting back for another update, red, SIR! Hahaha, come on red, lighten up. Ha! Pun not intended… Come on red, crack a little smile, it's funny!</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>… Fine, whatever. Ahem.</p>
<p>This place still seems like it <em>barely</em> follows Kejel's Laws of Reality Parameters. And by barely, I mean, really just <em>barely</em>. I'm pretty sure my math is right, but… hold on, I'm gonna check again…</p>
<p>Jesus. Yeah, yeah, pretty sure it's good still. Okay, this place… if we're using the standard Hume scale, I'm pretty sure I'm in a reality where the Hume Field is… point zero… four… ish. Yeah, really, really, <em>really</em> fucking low, so… Like I said above, space-time exists on a very minuscule scale, so my biology is not getting shot to hell and back because of any malnutrition, but that also means… I… I'm actually not sure what that also means…</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>…</p>
<p>Adding on from the last entry. I'm… I'm not sure how my biology will react in such a low Hume concentration, actually. I mostly worked with higher than average Hume Fields, and the reality benders we tested never had a Field lower than 0.8. This… this is gonna be a first. An all-time first. I remember Site-133's "Prommel Killer", they called it that because it broke the previous theory about the lowest limit of Hume concentration. Really expensive, really weird machine that brought down a small area to 0.4. 0.05 is… yeah.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>I was lying. I was lying, last log… I… I'm lying to myself. My own body, and… little red here too… We're about the realest things in this place. And that means… over time… the Hume field's going to want to… equalize, and… I'm… I'm gonna go for now, I have some… some calculation to do again. Red, Anna, take note I'm using Kejel's Second, Third, and Fourth Laws, got it? Use… use 0.05 as the surrounding, my external field as… somewhere in between 1 and 1.4, use the Second Law's error estimation correction, and my internal as… as… as… shit. I'm not done yet.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>I am real. I am super-real. Super duper real. Ultra real, the realest guy in a world of no-real.</p>
<p>You have no sense of humor as usual, red. I'm talking about the LSS, red. When we got sent here, I think… I think our reality got cranked up a notch. Red, didn't you pay attention in class? Hey, don't get fucking smart with me, red. Okay, the <em>point</em> is, the LSS surge got us up to… to…</p>
<p><em>Two months, eighteen days, seven hours.</em></p>
<p>No, red, not even fucking close, you must've converted Kejel's Third Law equation wrong. Because of the malfunctioning LSS we got blasted by, we're somewhere in between 2.2 and 3.6. <em>Yes</em>, that's good red, that's very good, because that means we have more time than we thought to… to… yes, red, before we fucking DIE, okay?!</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><em>Two months, twenty four days, five hours.</em></p>
<p>About three years. Four, if… If I don't interact too much. If… If I had had an LSS here, I could maybe stretch it out to… eight, maybe, that's best case scenario… But I have… I have to… I… know… but… but… three years. Three years, then it's past the point of no return. Ha. Hahahahaha. I should… I should definitely figure something out by then. I think I still should be pretty good for a while… At least… no, no, I won't be in here that long… I'll definitely figure something out…</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Anna, what would we do with a case like this? I need your help, honey. That… that tingling I've been feeling… That's my Hume Field diffusing… My… my reality fading… Three years. I need to stabilize myself within three years.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>I've been thinking… Anna and I, we had this theory… Even though the Hume Field is low, it's still a Hume Field. And precisely since it's so low, Hume diffusion should take quite a while. Now if… if I could… contain… recycle the fields, keep the diffusion from spreading too thin, I could… And I could also maybe… it's only a theory, but… It's worth a shot. But that means…</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Hey, red. I… I'm gonna have to go for a bit. I want to test something, and you can't come with me. I… I'm sorry. No, no, red, I'm really, <em>really</em> sorry, I want you to come, I do, but… if we're together the diffusion will increase faster… We both need as much time as possible. I need to figure this place out more, and <em>you</em> need to make sure you keep all that info in your head. It's… red, come on. You- you'll be fine red, I know you will, you're tough. A lot tougher than me… it'll only be for a bit, red, but I need to see if I can find a way to keep us alive a bit longer. Maybe even get us out of here. If I can contain enough field, I can… I can maybe even get us out. No, <em>no</em> I'm not sure, but I need to find out. Red, we're talking about possibly escaping, okay? Yeah, it's a gap. A gap should have an end, like a… like the walls of a canyon, understand? I need to find a wall, and then, and then I can…</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>I'm sorry, red, I hope we're still friends when I come back.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>…</p>
<p>I'm… I'm going now… I'll see you soon.</p>
<p>…</p>
</blockquote>
</div></section>
<section class="epub-collapse">
		<h2 id="collapse-704b5cefd747f" class="epub-collapse-header epub-has-unfolded">
			<s class="epub-collapse-folded-text">File: Scranton SCP-3001 logs, Section 3.</s>
		<ins role="doc-subtitle">Close.</ins>
		</h2>
	<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<blockquote>
<p><em>Six months, ten days, five hours.</em></p>
<p>Hello again, little red. It's been a while.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>You know… thinking back… I don't know what the hell I was so excited about. This place is… god, this place. This place is is fucking… hell.</p>
<p>There's no end. It just goes on. And on. And on.</p>
<p>I traveled in one goddamn direction for <em>two, damn, months.</em> God, I'm so fucking <em>stupid</em>, why did I think I could get out? I'm thinking like those old European shits that thought the end of the world was at the horizon. Fucking stupid, Robert, stupid, just-just- GAAAAAAAAAAAH—</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>If I let myself fall down long enough would I eventually hit a bottom?</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><em>Ten months, 28 days, 15 hours.</em><br />
There's no bottom. And <em>fuck you</em>, red.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>I'm sorry, red, don't go out, I'm sorry I turned you off, come back, come back, please—</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>… I turned 40 today. Happy birthday, Robert.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>I was adopted, did you know that? Yeah, my parents left me in a box on the side of a street. Got picked up by some American couple, which explains my not-so-Chinese names. I don't even know my original last name. Just thought I'd share. How about you, red?</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Anna and I met on-site in 1988. God she was beautiful. She still is. It was our eyes. She has <em>beautiful</em> eyes. My eyes are grey, they're boring, but hers… God they're beautiful. Do you think… Do you think she's still worried about me, little red? Is she looking for me?</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>You know, red, you're a great listener. But I never hear you talk about yourself. Come on, don't be shy, there's no one else around, right? Hahaha, right? Hahaha… hahahahaha…</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>"I'm sorry, Robert, I'm afraid I can't do that." Hahaha, red, you're hilarious.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Were you married? Kids? Any family at all? Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Come on, red, I won't judge, just… talk to me, <em>please.</em> God, my head hurts. And my feet feel like they've been asleep for forever.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>I worked at a comic store as a kid. So much cheaper back then, and I got free stuff at the end of each week. I liked Spiderman the best.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>I was in a box, side of the street.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>I… what the fuck… no. No. No, no, no, no, no, no, red, have you seen my picture? The <em>picture</em> red, Anna's picture, where is - come on, come on, where-where- Anna! ANNA! ANNA! Where did - no, no, no, no, no, please, please no, anything but, PLEASE.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>It's fading, she's fading, she's fading, please, Anna, no, please, come on, sweetie, stay here, it's too soon, it's TOO SOON, my math isn't wrong, it's NOT WRONG, YOU SHOULD BE FINE. ANNA, ANNA, I can't hold you, come back, Anna, sweetie, honey, Anna please, I need you, I need you, please, please, don't go, I'm here, I'm still here. RED GET HELP. Anna, please, please, don't go, don't -</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Black hair, green eyes, 160. Black hair, green eyes, 160. Black hair, green eyes, 160. Black hair, green eyes, 160. Black hair, green eyes, 160. Black hair, green eyes, 160. Black hair, green eyes, 160. Black hair, green eyes, 160. Black hair, green eyes, 160. Black hair, green eyes, 160. <em>[Dr. Scranton repeats this for three hours.]</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Anna and I got married in '91. We couldn't really get the nicest suit and dress we wanted because of work, but, damn, we both looked great. Anna looked better, of course. We just danced, and danced the whole night, got the whole week off. Even a job like mine lets you enjoy your honeymoon… So, come on red, open up, put 'er there, high five. Come on. <em>Come on, red.</em></p>
<p><em>One year, two months, twenty-seven days.</em></p>
<p>…<br />
…</p>
<p>AAAAAAA—</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><em>[The next recordings only play the control panel's automated voice giving times, with intervals of one to three days, with several month-long gaps in between as well; also intermixed are Dr. Scranton's sobbing, screaming, and mumbling. These recordings continue until the time reading reaches two years, seven months, and 28 days, after which they cease to pick up any sound until two months later.]</em></p>
</blockquote>
</div></section>
<section class="epub-collapse">
		<h2 id="collapse-ff5609093b1fa" class="epub-collapse-header epub-has-unfolded">
			<s class="epub-collapse-folded-text">File: Scranton SCP-3001 logs, Section 4.</s>
		<ins role="doc-subtitle">Close.</ins>
		</h2>
	<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<blockquote>
<p>…<br />
…</p>
<p><em>[Dr. Scranton's voice is noticeably distorted now. Hypothesized to a combination of both him and the control panel finally showing signs of reality breakdown.]</em></p>
<p>Robert… cold. I can't… I can't feel my legs anymore. I think… I'm beginning to… Hitting that point I… talked about… Low Hume Field… Diffusion… Equilibrium… bunch of… stupid… garbage…</p>
<p>I don't know what's real in here any more. Hell, I'm not sure <em>I'm</em> real. Or… something… something close to it… If… If I really am going out like this, I… I… I don't want to die yet. I don't want to die yet. Oh, <em>god</em> I don't wanna die yet…</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>I ran up in one straight diagonal line, for six months. I went down in one… no I just went down again… for… eight. There's still no bottom, red, there's still no bottom.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>What have you been up to, Red? Have you been listening for me all this time? You're a stubborn little guy, Red…</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Lucy.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Huh, Red? Sorry, I must have fell asleep. What did you want? Oh… sorry, I-I'll try to remember…</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Lucy. That's what we wanted to call our kid if we had one. Lucy Scranton, Lucy Lang, Anna and I both thought it would have a nice ring. I-I- No, Red, I… I don't remember picking out a boy's name…</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>"Good morning… good morni-i-ing. We've talked… the whole… through…"</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Man, I really suck at tap-dancing. Can't feel my feet at all. Okay, <em>you</em> try then, Red.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Kejel's Law states that Hume Fields diffuse, Kejel's Law states that my balls will eventually fall off if this keeps up.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>"Anna… Anna bo banna…" Heh, she hated that song, and I loved to tease her with it. "Anna… Anna bo banna banana… banana, banana canna…" It actually became a joke between us, did you know? We made it the words that turn you on. <em>[Pause.]</em> Come on, red, act your age, don't be immature. <em>[Sighs.]</em> Fine, guess you have a sense of humor after all, maybe!</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Heheheh, we're gonna have to fuck with <em>so</em> much science when we get out, this place breaks apart rules like my hand is breaking right now.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Spiderwebs. My left hands. Spiderwebs.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>There was a reality-bending spider at Site-120 once. I should crush it. Red, would you crush it for me when we get out?</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Average ten, fifteen kilometers a day, plus a few breaks. Thirty, two, thirty, ten, no, eleven, no, no ten, I think. At least, three hundred left, and… and… shit no, was faster going down… Fuck it, I'm saying about six hundred kilometers down. Took a hell of a lot longer coming up.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Far down. Bottomless? Infinite? And beyond. Shut up, Robert, you're not funny.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Hume Field, boom field… breaking down at a rate of… shit, what's the constant of Modified Prommel Relations? Ten to the fourth? No, no… fifth… fifth, I think…</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>One year. Maybe add a few more months.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Red, how does David sound? David. You know, you asked about… yeah, yeah, that. Sorry I woke you…</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>My… my hands. I… my hands are going through each other… Red. Red! RED! Red, help, help, please, my hands, I can't feel my hands, they're going through each other like… like… they're like ice water, Red, I can't, oh god, oh god…</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Huh… huh… huh… Red… You know… you know that… that stupid magic trick your uncle would show you where he'd pull his thumb off, but it was really just his other one tucked under?</p>
<p>I just did that. With my real thumb. It didn't even hurt, it just came off. I think… Oh, god I'm gonna be sick. I-I- <em>[Sounds of retching.]</em> I think… I think it's just floating right now, and I can't even pick it up, my hand just passes through it, oh god, oh god, I-I-</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>My left pinky feels like… an onion.</p>
<p>Yeah, it's separated.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>NICE TRY HELL, ring's on the RIGHT hand, nice try left.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>I can… go… right through myself… I can… feel inside me.</p>
<p>It feels… warm.</p>
<p>But also cold.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>When I sleep… my hands go in my head. I'm sleeping on my back now.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Static. I'm like static on a TV.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Chhhk. Chhhhk. Chhhk.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Ha. Hahahaha. Hahahahahahaha. Well, I-I-I only need one kidney, right? RIGHT? RED, RED LOOK AT THIS! Haha. Hahahahahaha…</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Let me keep my heart, just my heart, that's all I want.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Lucy. David. Are you there? I want to see you.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Lucy. David. That's not fair. Come on, hey, quit messing around, I was joking when I said that, I was joking. COME ON, THAT'S FUCKED UP, I WAS JOKING.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>I'm a man, be a man, Robert, you're a man, WHAT THE FUCK.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Anna… Annaaaa…</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><em>Four years, six months, eighteen days.</em></p>
<p>I'm not… I'm not even doing it myself anymore. I can… feel it happening on its own… Finally. Finally, I can… I still can't say it… I'm… I'm still scared…</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>I… definitely won't eat anymore now…</p>
<p>Still really hungry.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>That is fucking disgusting, Robert, and you know it. NO. SEE, RED THINKS SO TOO. NO.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>This little piggie went to market.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>This little piggie went… somewhere.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>This little… foot. Foot… RED?!</p>
<p><em>Five years, 13 days.</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Haha.<br />
Hahahahahahaha<br />
Hahahahahahahahahaha.<br />
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.<br />
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.</p>
<p><em>Five years, 14 days.</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><em>Five years, 15 days.</em><br />
<em>Five years, 15 days.</em><br />
<em>Five years, 15 days.</em><br />
<em>Five years, 15 days.</em><br />
<em>Five years, 15 days.</em><br />
<em>Five years, 15 days.</em><br />
<em>Five years, 15 days.</em></p>
<p>Stop it, you're hurting me.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><em>Five years, 19 days.</em></p>
<p>I'm feeling better now, red, sorry.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>How do you do it, red? Keep it together? Spill it out, I need some help here… I need some help…</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Red. Come on. Don't do that. Don't go. I know it's hard. I know it's dark. But-but- it's dark and we're together still. Come on. Red. No. No. You-you can't. RED! Come on, buddy, stay with me, Red! Come on! I can still touch you! I CAN STILL TOUCH YOU LOOK AT ME RED YOU ARE NOT DYING YET NO RED NO!</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><em>[No audio is recorded for the next 9 months.]</em></p>
</blockquote>
</div></section>
<section class="epub-collapse">
		<h2 id="collapse-d529aab46971c" class="epub-collapse-header epub-has-unfolded">
			<s class="epub-collapse-folded-text">File: Scranton SCP-3001 logs, Section 5.</s>
		<ins role="doc-subtitle">Close</ins>
		</h2>
	<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<blockquote>
<p><em>Five years, nine months, two days.</em></p>
<p>…</p>
<p>Red?</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><em>Five years, nine months, three days.</em><br />
<em>Five years, nine months, three days.</em><br />
<em>Five years, nine months, three days.</em><br />
<em>Five years, nine months, three days.</em><br />
<em>Five years, nine months, three days.</em><br />
<em>Five years, nine months, three days.</em><br />
<em>Five years, nine months, three days.</em><br />
<em>Five years, nine months, three days.</em><br />
[Automated message repeats 97 more times.]</p>
<p>You little shit, I thought you left me… <em>[Dr. Scranton's voice is barely audible/coherent, as if through a heavily distorted, muted radio.]</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>…</p>
<p>Sorry to say, red, but… there's not much left here… I… it's been hard. I've… 184. I've tried to kill myself 184 times. It didn't work. …None of them worked. I'm… I don't even know how much there is of me anymore. At least one foot, because I can move. Probably a few leg muscles too, but I'm wobbly. Insides are… insides are shit. Still a heart, maybe a lung. This place… really won't let me stop… Tired…</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>I… did die, red. Come on red, don't look at me like, I don't want your <em>pity</em> and I don't want <em>shock</em>, or anger, or fear, or, or… I can't… When… 224, I miscounted…</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>One, two, three, four… <em>[Dr. Scranton counts from one to 220-245 several times over for the next 13 hours.]</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>I died. I died, a lot. I tried to suffocate, I tried to snap my neck, I tried to bite myself apart. And… and… This place. It's not real. I left, I saw <em>myself</em>, <em>on the ground</em> and I couldn't— I couldn't— I couldn't go anywhere. I couldn't <em>leave</em>. There's no way to <em>leave</em>, I just floated back down, and each, damn, time, there was less and less of me. I-I- oh, god, how much more can I take away and still live?</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>So why are… why are you back now? What do you want to tell me?</p>
<p><em>Five years, nine months, twelve days.</em></p>
<p>Heh…</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>This place is getting smaller. Red, did you somehow do this? I… there's an end here for sure now. It's gone from… god knows how long to… There's like a veil further out and when I touched it hurt like hell. Red, what's going on?</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>It's… it's not dark. That border or whatever is getting brighter and, I mean, it's still fucking dark but… oh god, I can actually <em>see</em> something now. I…I… oh, god, what the fuck is this? I… oh, god, I didn't know I was this bad. Oh, god, oh god, oh god, there's so much gone—</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><em>Five years, ten months, ten days.</em></p>
<p>Red, you're solid. Like, no, you're really fucking <em>solid.</em> You're… you're <em>real.</em> And… and… I'm real too when… only when I touch you. But… Red, it… it really hurts when I do. I… I think that if I touch you I might fall apart…</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>You — <em>really</em> fucking hurt, Red, Jesus <em>Christ</em>, you hurt, what the fuck is going on?</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>About three kilometer in radius, and closing. Is this… is this something like Kejel's Fourth Law? But… but… what the hell is taking it? Hey! HEY! I'm in here still stop! You're causing a collapse! HEY! HEY!</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Two kilometers. Oh god, what's gonna happen when it closes? DAMMIT, RED YOU HURT!</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Not collapsing. Waves. They're… waves… What?</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Robert, you are a goddamn genius. Not walls, windows. <em>Open windows.</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><em>Five years, ten months, twenty-eight days.</em></p>
<p>Anna, Anna can you hear me? These waves… this place… Okay, imagine, two realities as two pieces of paper stuck together. This place is the space squished between. There should be only two realities, parallel, but this place is a tiny, but infinite third… third… in-between, like what would happen if you fell into a hole crossing a bridge from Point A to Point B! Remember Class-C Wormholes? Those theories about a wormhole that was full of goddamn holes. I think… I think this is where one of those holes leads. It doesn't lead to a different universe, it leads to <em>nothing.</em> A dead end. This place is a dead end. Class-C "Broken Entry".</p>
<p>These waves. Wherever they're coming from, they're from some parallel reality interacting with this place, displacing this in-between place every so slightly. And they're all… pushing on me and red, because since we still have some level of reality, they're pushing, or… or sucking us towards them, gradually creating a new wormhole towards… towards… home.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>What's going to happen to me when I go back? When the window closes?</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Think, dammit, Robert, think. You've got to think! <em>Think harder! THINK HARDER!</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Red, I'm gonna, ah, I'm gonna have to, <em>Jesus</em>- gah, I'm gonna have to move away from you, you, I don't know, you're sick or something, you're really messed up right now. Call me when you're feeling better.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>…I can't… I can't think… right… Blood. Blood. There's… way… too much… ha…</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Drip, drip, drip, where does it allllllll…. gooooooooooooo… <em>[Retching noises.]</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>I haven't… <em>[Retching noises.]</em> tasted barf in forever. Not even when I threw up after my… my… you're a man, Robert.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Oh, god. Oh god not again, not again, not again— <em>[Retching.]</em><br />
…</p>
<p><em>[Voice breaks.]</em> How…? How…? How can I be throwing up this much, red, tell me… I don't… <em>[Retching.]</em> I don't even have a stomach to hold it in anymore… And the bleeding never… stops… <em>[Dr. Scranton breaks down into crying for the next two hours.]</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Be- <em>[Retching.]</em> better… now. Thinking.. straight…</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Red, I… I don't know if I'm ready to go back anywhere yet…</p>
<p><em>Five years, eleven months, three days.</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>No, red, I'm not being selfish, it wasn't you, it was these goddamn waves coming in. I can't be near them. Red, look, look at me. See this? Red, look at me. LOOK. I can't be near them, they'll kill me. I passed the three years quite a while back, remember?</p>
<p>Because, even… even after all this time… I don't want to die, red. I'm still scared. <em>[Voice breaks.]</em> Red, I am <em>scared</em>, okay? You wouldn't understand, you're not… you're not human, red.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Oh I'm <em>sorry</em> for offending you, red. No, red, come on, I didn't mean it like that. Red, look at me. You're my friend, do you get that? You are, my <em>best</em> friend. But… let's face it, you've got a much better chance of getting out of here a—…. Just leave me alone, please, red? Just for a bit… I'm sorry, okay? I really am…</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Can you… hear the waves coming in, red? That little hum and shake as it hits your ears? I can. And it's getting louder every time, and it <em>hurts so bad. [Begins to sob quietly.]</em> It hurts <em>so bad.</em><a id="footnoteref-b904-4" href="scp-3001.xhtml#footnote-b904-4" role="doc-noteref" epub:type="noteref">[4]</a></p>
				    <aside id="footnote-b904-4" role="doc-footnote" epub:type="footnote" class="inline-footnote">
						<p>
							<a href="scp-3001.xhtml#footnoteref-b904-4" role="doc-backlink" title="Go to note reference">4</a>.  No audible hum is picked up by the control panel at the time. It is believed that the frequency was too low to be detected.</p>
				    </aside>
				
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>No… No, no, no, no, no… NO. NO. NO. Why? Why?! Just let me go, let me go… LET ME GO DAMMIT, oh god… <em>[Sobbing.]</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><em>[Sobbing groan.]</em> Another five years. <em>Five more years.</em> If this keeps up, I'm getting re-stabilized for another FIVE FUCKING GODDAMN YEARS, RED WHAT DO I DO?!</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><em>[Over the next five days, the control panel does begin to pick up a low frequency hum that comes in pulses. The volume increases steadily, and as it does, Dr. Scranton can be heard screaming, crying, and speaking incoherently in the background.]</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><em>[Voice is noticeably shaky.]</em> Red.</p>
<p><em>[At this point the background humming noise is picked up at a rate of 20 pulses/min.]</em></p>
<p><em>Five years, eleven months, nine days.</em></p>
<p>Help. <em>[Loud splattering noise heard as something strikes what is assumed to be the control panel.]</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><em>[Complete silence for five days. Pulses increase in volume, as well as frequency to 30 per minute.]</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><em>[Loud splattering noise.]</em></p>
<p>Red. <em>[Dr. Scranton's voice is extremely slurred, almost incomprehensible.]</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Red.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Red, give me your leg, I need support.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Red, give me your lever, arm. HAND!</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Red, I need to see better, give me your light, no sorry, no, no light needed, got it, sorry, something else.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Anna.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>I want pretty eyes. Anna, Anna, give me your eye, I only have one.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Anna, Anna, give me your lips, I want to kiss you again.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Anna, Anna, give me your tongue, I'm — I'm huhnunnnnnn-gry. <em>[Clicks tongue multiple times. Breaks down into a mix of quiet laughter and sobbing.]</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Anna… Anna, spare a toe? Wobbly.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>…</p>
<p><strong>ANNA, GIVE ME YOUR BRAIN, I ONLY HAVE HALF.</strong></p>
<p>…</p>
<p><em>[Humming measured at 46 pulses a minute.]</em></p>
<p><em>[Sobbing.]</em></p>
<p><em>[Whispering.]</em> I'm sorry, Anna, I didn't mean it, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry I'm so scary, I'm so sorry… <em>[Sobbing.]</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Anna… <em>[Voice breaks.]</em> Anna, can I hold your hand, I lost my <em>ring</em>… <em>[Sobbing.]</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><em>[Whispering.]</em> It's okay, baby, it's okay… I'll find another way out… There's still enough of me left to… <em>[Shaky laughter as voice breaks.]</em> Another five years… five more years to figure something… something out… <em>[Laughter breaks down into crying that gradually goes silent over the next hour.]</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><em>[Quiet sobbing.]</em> Not yet, red… please… I know you want to go… I'm not ready yet… I'm not… I'm not… <em>[Splattering noise heard.]</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>I love you, red. I love you, Anna.</p>
<p><em>Five years, eleven months, twenty days.</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><em>[Hum is now up to 60 pulses/min.]</em></p>
<p>…</p>
<p><em>[Quiet sob.]</em> A… nna… <em>[Dr. Scranton's speech pattern is almost regular.]</em> <em>[Loud metallic bang heard followed by splattering noise as something strikes the control panel once again.]</em><br />
<em>Five years, eleven months, twenty-one days.</em></p>
</blockquote>
<hr />
<hr />
<p>On December 23, 2005, the LSS Control Panel spontaneously appeared back within the Site-120 testing facility, Reality Lab A.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>…</p>
<p>Doctor, initial Hume Field readings of the Anchor are stable. Output readings are 2.3, with a 0.001% fluctuation.</p>
<p>Good, Skinner, let's hope that holds.</p>
<p>Hold on. What the hell?</p>
<p>What's wrong?</p>
<p>Something has appeared inside the testing zone.</p>
<p>What?</p>
<p>Ma'am, a large object has materialized within the Anchor field. What's the call? Kill the power? Call in the team?</p>
<p>Skinner, what the hell are you- Oh my god. What the— where the <em>hell</em> did <em>that</em> thing come from?!</p>
<p>I don't know ma'am, it just — it just appeared out of nowhere. It… it looks like it's covered in… what the hell is that— <em>[Gags.]</em> Oh god, it smells awful, I can smell it from here, Jesus <em>Christ</em>—</p>
<p><em>[Gags.]</em> It smells like… <em>death</em>, it's like… vomit and — and blood, and… and…</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>Ma'am?</p>
<p>Oh my god.</p>
<p>Ma'am?</p>
<p>Do not abort, Skinner, I repeat, do not abort, keep that field up, and <em>do not abort</em>!</p>
<p>Ma'am, what's going on? Ma'am? <em>Ma'am!</em></p>
<p>Reduce Hume Field to 1.7, I'm entering the containment zone, <em>do not</em> disengage the field, or we risk destabilizing the object!</p>
<p>Uh, yes ma'am! <em>[Mechanical whirring heard.]</em> Uh, reporting, yes, this is Dr. Matthew Skinner, requesting…</p>
<p><em>[Splashing footsteps heard.]</em></p>
<p>Oh, god, what the hell, what — what is all this? This… this is… this is the… Oh, god. Robert? Robert?! Robert, is this you? Oh, god, please, please, no, don't let it be you, don't let it be you, <em>Robert?!</em> I thought, I thought — How can this thing be—? <em>[Splashing footsteps heard again.]</em></p>
<p><em>[Electronic beeping.]</em></p>
<p>Ma'am? Ma'am? What are you doing, you shouldn't touch —</p>
<p><em>This is the Lang Scranton Stabilizer interface. Welcome back, Dr. Lang, what would you like to—</em></p>
<p>Access Audio Log, play back starting from January 2, 2000! <em>[Squishing noise heard.]</em> Oh god, oh god, what the hell happened to this thing, it's like someone exploded on it, it's like — <em>[Gag.]</em> That's… oh god is that… is that… oh god, oh god, please, please, no, please, don't be — <em>[Gasp, then sob.]</em> It's grey, <em>his</em> grey, oh, god, where's the other…?</p>
<p><em>Accessing audio files. Please verbally state your password to continue, Dr. Lang.</em></p>
<p><em>[Voice begins to break.]</em>—… <em>[Gags.]</em> Password… Password is "Anna bo banna"! Oh my god… He's… it's <em>everywhere</em>, what the <em>hell</em>?…</p>
<p><em>Request acknowledged. Processing… I'm sorry, there are no audio logs for January 2, 2000. Dr. Scranton accessed log on January 13, 2000 via voice-recognition at time—</em></p>
<p><em>[Metallic slam.] PLAY BACK NOW DAMMIT, PLAY IT BACK! [Sobbing.]</em> Oh god, Robert, Robert, sweetie, what — what happened to—?</p>
<p><em>Confirmed, Dr. Lang, retrieving audio files…</em></p>
<p>Ma'am you really shouldn't be touching that barehanded, it could be hazardous, you should wait for the cleaning team to—</p>
<p>There's so much blood here, there's so much, honey. Are you okay?! Where did you go?! Oh god, oh god, oh god… <em>[Sound of splattering and squeaking, as if wiping away fluid.]</em> Oh, god, there's so much blood… <em>[Squishing noise.]</em> What…? …Oh my… <em>[Choking gasp, then silence for twenty seconds.]</em></p>
<p>Ma'am! Ma'am! Dr. Lang, please, please, step away from the—</p>
<p>His hand. His ring… It just fell to the…</p>
<p>Ma'am, what—? Oh. Oh, <em>shit.</em> Oh, Jesus <em>Christ.</em> Dr. Lang, step away, please, come back! We'll get you out here for now, everything will be all right!</p>
<p><em>Files retrieved, Dr. Lang. Playing now.</em></p>
<p>Dr. Lang, please, come with me, we'll get help, you hear me? Dr. Lang? Dr. Lang, can you hear me?! Dr. Lang?!</p>
<p>Name, Robert Scranton. Age, 39. Birthday, September 19, 1961.</p>
<p>Favorite color, blue.</p>
<p>Favorite song, "Living on a Prayer."<br />
Wife… Anna…</p>
<p>Anna…</p>
<p><em>[Thudding sound heard, as if falling on wet pavement.]</em></p>
<p>Dr. Lang? Dr. Lang! Report, this is Dr. Matthew Skinner, reporting from Site-120 Reality Lab A, I need medical attention here immediately!</p>
</blockquote>
</div></section>


                    </div>
	<section role="doc-endnotes" epub:type="endnotes" aria-labelledby="endnotes-b904">
		<h2 id="endnotes-b904">Footnotes</h2>
		<ol><li id="footnote-b904-1-end" role="doc-endnote" epub:type="endnote">
					<p> A previously hypothetical type of wormhole that does not transport matter to the expected location, or has a spacetime flaw that may randomly and dangerously eject matter mid-travel. <a href="scp-3001.xhtml#footnoteref-b904-1" role="doc-backlink" title="Go back to note reference" aria-label="Go back to note reference">↖</a></p>
				</li>
<li id="footnote-b904-2-end" role="doc-endnote" epub:type="endnote">
					<p> For more information on Humes and reality physics, refer to documents <a href="http://scp-wiki.net/and-this-one-explains-humes">JEK-WT01</a> and <a href="http://scp-wiki.net/an-faq-part-two-or-your-hume-questions-answered">JEK-EB02.</a> <a href="scp-3001.xhtml#footnoteref-b904-2" role="doc-backlink" title="Go back to note reference" aria-label="Go back to note reference">↖</a></p>
				</li>
<li id="footnote-b904-3-end" role="doc-endnote" epub:type="endnote">
					<p> The LSS was the prototype whose design would go on to become the basis for the current "Reality Anchor" project. <a href="scp-3001.xhtml#footnoteref-b904-3" role="doc-backlink" title="Go back to note reference" aria-label="Go back to note reference">↖</a></p>
				</li>
<li id="footnote-b904-4-end" role="doc-endnote" epub:type="endnote">
					<p> No audible hum is picked up by the control panel at the time. It is believed that the frequency was too low to be detected. <a href="scp-3001.xhtml#footnoteref-b904-4" role="doc-backlink" title="Go back to note reference" aria-label="Go back to note reference">↖</a></p>
				</li></ol>
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